Return to Bermudas Index
and to request permission to archive
Summary: The crew of Moya through the eyes of a woman with her own agenda -- Jenavian Chatto.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers (required): This takes place post-Fractures, so anything up 'til then is fair game.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, and I make no money whatsoever out of my efforts here. And I promise to return them in the condition I found them.
Thanks to my betas: S/FOG for defending D'Argo's dignity, AC, for defending Crichton's chastity, and cofax, for doing no less than defending the entire English language against my abuse of it.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Disruption – Part 1
Old acquaintances meet again, and are introduced.
"You!" The voice was imperious, disgusted, and far too loud. I didn't cringe, didn't let anything cross my face except vague confusion. I'd been trained too well for that.
Anyone who's kicked around as much as I have, in as many different roles as I have, has to be prepared to run into familiar faces. It's unlikely, of course -- space is immense, and I don't believe in destiny bringing people together. I believe in the random moment, the unexpected alignment of person and circumstance. But that doesn't mean advance planning is irrelevant -- on the contrary. Preparation is everything, so that when all those carefully constructed plans inevitably fall to pieces, and the fun begins, I'm not left blind and empty-handed. And improvising is where the fun comes in. I'm not a dull-witted grunt. I'm a Disruptor. That means using my mind, my creativity. Making new plans as old ones become unworkable, gathering new tools as they present themselves, saving them for future use. And, given the proper groundwork, any materials can be used toward the ultimate end.
So when I came face to face with the little Hynerian with the big mouth, I remained calm, faced the little worm with a neutrality and apparent boredom that I didn't feel at all.
J'atris, my rather dull companion, turned to face our questioner. I hoped he'd let it go, but he didn't. He was suspicious. Of course he was suspicious. J'atris was by nature suspicious, as I knew all too well. I'd spent too much time cultivating him, soothing his paranoia to the point where I could properly infiltrate his operations. I had just started to exert the influence I needed to -- of course, it didn't please his followers that a mere entertainer had his ear. They'd be much less pleased if they knew I wasn't a dancing girl. Not that I'm not good at that, though. I'm good at a lot of things.
If I didn't play this just right, it could set me back monens -- or sabotage me completely. And it looked bad. J'atris' voice was high-pitched, uneasy. "Are you speaking to me, Hynerian?"
Dominar Rygel XVI looked at me for a moment, frowning. His reaction had been instinctive, surprise. Now, I could almost hear his mind working. Figuring out what was going on, probably wondering how he could profit by it. Obviously, although I was clearly who he thought I was, I wasn't. It was almost funny. Or would be, if it wasn't so frelling dangerous.
"No," he said, slowly. "I thought you were someone else." I nodded slightly, just enough to let him know he'd done right, not enough to attract J'atris' attention. "You look like someone I used to know, that's all."
"Ah." Suspicious or not, J'atris was stupid enough not to realize that the Hynerian wasn't talking about him. Stupid and suspicious -- the worst possible combination. "We've never met?"
We'd saved the situation, and I felt a wave of relief, until Ka D'Argo and John Crichton rounded the corner. Given another situation, I would have been pleased to see the human. As it was, pleasure was the last thing on my mind. D'Argo's gaze found the Hynerian, then lifted and fixed on me.
I suppose it was too much to ask of a Luxan to understand subtleties, or show subtlety himself. He was up to us in three strides, his hand on his Qualta blade. "What is *she* doing here?" he growled. Damned Luxan oaf. The muscles in my neck tightened; it was by sheer willpower that I didn't reach for the pulse pistol hidden under my cloak. All these cycles out of infantry, and I still had a soldier's
instincts. Not something to be proud of.
J'atris turned to me. "Kendra? The Luxan seems to recognize you."
While my mind was growling out profanity in 14 different languages, I assumed my most vacant smile. "But I don't know any Luxans..." Just a touch of breathiness, not too much... "Maybe he's seen me dance?" I turned a brilliant smile on the towering idiot, not feeling a bit of it.
"Dance?" The Luxan's brow lowered in a confusion I could have found amusing, if he hadn't just put my life in danger. The moment stretched out uncomfortably as I prayed that he'd pick up on the hint.
"Please forgive my friend," said Crichton, with just the right note of unctuousness. "He's a little overwhelmed. We're big admirers of yours. Can I call you Kendra? I know it's familiar, but..."
My smile turned genuine. He was still sharp as ever -- after all, he'd even fooled me until I'd held a blade at his throat and forced the truth out of him. "Yes, of course. Call me Kendra."
"But..." The Luxan began to protest, then glanced at the human, back at me. "To do so seems like a liberty."
"This is *such* a thrill," Crichton continued. "We saw you on... where was it, D'Argo? It was about a half-cycle ago..."
"Hiresta," I supplied smoothly, picking up his cue, filling in my back story. "You saw my performance?"
"Absolutely," he answered. Then, a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes. "Your performance is something I'll never forget."
I nearly laughed, spoiling it all. "It's nice to know that my work is appreciated."
"Oh, yeah. It was certainly, uh... appreciated."
The expression in his eyes was warm, friendly, and I smiled in return, allowed the slightest self-conscious flicker of the eyes, which made his smile widen. My first choice was staying on Tendaris, close to J'atris. But if turned out that I did have to abort the mission and pull out, Crichton was my best chance.
"Oh, my," I giggled, like the empty-headed girl I was supposed to be. "You are flattering me, I'm afraid."
I allowed myself the slightest relaxation. Perhaps I'd saved it after all. Then Crichton's gaze moved past my shoulder, and his smile froze. You'd have thought he was looking down the barrel of a pulse rifle.
"What are you three doing? You know we can't waste time..." The woman's voice was impatient, familiar, and I nearly groaned in disgust. Just what I needed, just when it was safe. As Aeryn Sun pushed past us, her Nebari shipmate close on her heels, I glanced at J'atris, only to find him looking at me, eyes narrowed in suspicion. I smiled, presenting the most ingenuous exterior. But inside? I knew it was hopeless. I couldn't worry about my superiors' reaction to my blown cover. No time. I needed to get away, fast. Considering my ongoing orders regarding Crichton, perhaps I could even convince my superiors that this sudden evacuation was a good thing.
Aeryn Sun turned then, her quick motion bringing her face to face with me. Close enough that she recognized me, fast enough that her reaction was unfiltered, immediate. "You!" Her hand was on her pulse pistol immediately. "What are you...?"
She trailed off as her gaze traveled from me to J'atris and back again -- J'atris, who was quickly taking in the situation. His eyes flickered from me, to Sun, so clearly shouting "Peacekeeper!" in every line of her body, her clothing, her tightly bound hair, to Crichton, hand resting nonchalantly on the butt of his pulse pistol. And it was over. J'atris was stupid, yes. But he would have to be dead to not draw the correct conclusion. Unfortunately, dead wasn't something I could arrange at the moment.
My erstwhile lover backed away from me, his hand on his weapon, eyes narrowing as he looked at me. "You lying tralk," he hissed. "Peacekeeper spy... and to think that I-" His pistol was out of its holster, and I was moving. One arm out, blocking the rising weapon, forcing it down and away, turning in place, bringing the other elbow up, hard, under his chin, taking him down.
The action couldn't go unnoticed -- J'atris never went anywhere without his entourage. I'd picked them out from the market crowd as soon as we'd arrived. Quite laughable, actually, to call them covert. I turned, saw one of the unskilled idiots at the corner of the square, and shot him cleanly in the shoulder with his employer's pistol, sending him sprawling. Normally, I would have dropped him with a shot between the eyes, but the odds of capture were high, and the penalty for murder on this planet was unpleasant, even by my standards. As a spy, I'd be exposed and shipped off world -- but at least I'd get to keep my hands and feet.
Two more soldiers across the square. I leveled my weapon, only to find the human next to me, facing the opposite direction, his pistol drawn.
"Don't kill anyone unless you absolutely have to," I ordered. I caught a flicker of what looked like approval on Crichton's face, but now wasn't the time to stop to think about it. "Transport?"
"South side," he answered, with the same economy of words.
"Let's go."
"Crichton..." the Luxan protested, seconded quickly by Sun.
"We are *not* taking her with us."
Crichton spared them a glance, a raised eyebrow. "I'm not gonna leave her here to die." I'd judged him perfectly, but didn't let my satisfaction touch my face. He wouldn't leave me here, wouldn't let *them* leave me here.
"You mean..." the Nebari ducked another pulse blast, then looked at me with wide eyes. "You really *are* a spy?" I gave her my best rakish grin, and she actually giggled in delight.
"We cannot take a Peacekeeper with us," the Luxan snarled.
"Yeah, like we've never done *that* before," Crichton muttered under his breath as he picked off another of J'atris' guards.
"Are you completely fahrbot?" the Hynerian protested, his voice shrill and unbelieving.
"I *owe* her, Rygel," Crichton snapped.
"Frell!" Evidently reaching a decision, Aeryn Sun grabbed her pulse pistol and effortlessly nailed two guards who'd emerged at a run from the north side. "Let's get out of here. Crichton, you *will* explain."
"Fine. Yes. On the transport."
It wasn't easy, but we did it. The only casualty was the Hynerian's thronesled, which had taken a glancing shot, enough to fuse its power cables. An energy bolt had creased Crichton's shoulder when he'd stopped to retrieve both the Hynerian and his sled, but it was nothing serious -- a cursory inspection told me that he'd be fine, and that I might just enjoy bandaging that particular wound. Certainly I could make *him* enjoy it.
The Luxan took the controls and headed us into space; I could hear him instructing the Leviathan's pilot to prepare for departure. Crichton dropped into one of the seats, and I settled in beside him. "Let's see that wound."
"Hold it right there," Aeryn Sun's voice was calm, cold. I looked up, not at all surprised to see her pulse pistol leveled at my head. "While you are our guest, you will keep your distance from our crew."
Our crew. How amusing. I couldn't help it: I smiled. "Sorry. It's a bit late for those instructions."
Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. I think she nearly shot me then. Me, or Crichton. It was a close call.
"So..." the Nebari broke in, perhaps to prevent violence, perhaps not. It was hard to tell. "Who are you? Really?"
Crichton sighed. "Guys, this is Jenavian Chatto. Peacekeeper Disruptor. Special Directorate."
"Disruptor?" Sun looked disbelieving, disdainful. "*You're* a disruptor?"
It was an insult. Or was supposed to be. I smiled. "Yes. And *you* never got past Prowlers."
"All right, all right, enough of that." Crichton leaned forward, breaking the plane between the two of us. She looked away, to a point past his shoulder. Curious. "For a secret agent, you've got a hell of a big mouth, Jena."
"Jena?" Chiana repeated archly, and Crichton grimaced. He hadn't meant to use the familiar address, not in front of them, not yet. The Nebari girl giggled again.
"What exactly is going on, Crichton?" the Hynerian demanded.
The Luxan turned in his seat, watching intently. "We do have the right to know, John."
Crichton sighed again. "You know the mysterious stranger who saved me from Prince Clavor's assassin? The one I said I couldn't identify?"
"Obviously, you lied," Sun said, her tone flat, distant, as though his dishonesty were no surprise.
Crichton's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. "I couldn't blow her cover. I wasn't exactly in a position to blow anyone's cover. 'Specially since she assumed *I* was Special Directorate, too."
She didn't look at him, but she nodded, and he continued. "And when Clavor and the Scarran took my head off, she... she was the one who got it back from Scorpius... and uh, reassembled me." He squared his shoulders, but looked at the floor. "And she... we... like I said, I owe her." There was more, of course, more that he wasn't saying. Which was fine with me. Let it be our secret -- secrets can be used. Open truths are much less powerful.
"I don't see why *we* had to get our heads nearly shot off, though," the Hynerian grumbled. "*We* don't owe her anything."
"Oh?" Crichton turned, his eyebrows going up. "And who was it who tossed her out of the frying pan down there, Guido?"
"Not me," Rygel protested.
"No," I agreed. "Not the Hynerian. The rest of you, though..." I shook my head. "Not exactly promising undercover material."
"Some might take that as a compliment," the Luxan ground out. "It means we are not accomplished liars."
I smiled. "Whatever you grasp at to excuse your incompetence is fine with me, Ka D'Argo."
It didn't escape me that the Nebari stiffened at that.
"We can't keep her with us," Sun said, and Crichton nodded.
"I know. But we *can* drop her off safely at the next commerce planet."
"I don't see why," the Hynerian objected.
"Because you nearly got me killed," I answered smoothly. "Worse than that, you frelled up my mission."
"A *Peacekeeper* mission," D'Argo sneered, and Rygel seconded him.
"Whatever you were doing on that planet, it couldn't have been good."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "And if it hadn't been for one of my *Peacekeeper missions*, your friend here would be in two shiny, heavy pieces. One of which would be decorating Scorpius' trophy case."
They had a hard time answering that. Of course.
"The very next system," Aeryn Sun said firmly, and Crichton shrugged.
"That's all I'm askin' for, Aeryn."
We spent the rest of the journey in silence -- no one seemed eager to speak. I certainly wasn't going to share any more information about myself than I needed to. I passed the time watching them, absorbing details.
No points on picking up that the Luxan and the Nebari were involved -- or had been. Neither was exactly subtle. Aeryn Sun -- now *she* was subtle. An outsider would be hard-pressed to tell whether she was even aware that Crichton was on the same transport. But I remembered her protectiveness of him on the Royal Planet. Then, she'd cared enough about him to openly assault two members of the ruling family. Now, she hardly spoke to him, barely looked at him, mostly kept her back to him, but her movements were an eerie parallel to his, moving away as he moved closer, always keeping the same distance between them. To mirror your target that perfectly, I knew from experience, you have to know where it is at all times.
Knowing that she cared gave me the edge. She might be wondering, but she didn't know. If she became too annoying, I'd drop that piece of information like a pulse grenade. And I'd enjoy it, too. I still owed her from the Royal Planet, when my assumed role as Clavor's helpless tralk prevented me from snapping her arm the way she deserved. But an advantage shared is an advantage lost, so for the moment I just kept my mouth shut.
Crichton was as obvious as Sun was subtle. His eyes lingered on her, he glanced uncomfortably between me and her, and he avoided the looks his friends cast his way. I knew some of what had happened to these people since I had seen them last, at least what Command had seen fit to share with me, so it wasn't a surprise to see him looking drawn, tired. But there was something more. Something heavy and unstated that seemed to clog the air between them. Something that kept Aeryn Sun, who had once physically assaulted a Royal Princess to protect his interests, from even acknowledging his presence; something that limned his eyes with a weary sadness.
On the Leviathan, I greeted the other two with a smile. The first, I'd known by reputation long before I ever encountered the crew of Moya. "Bialar Crais. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And how is Talyn these days?"
He looked at me in surprise, one eyebrow rising. "Do I know you?"
"Not yet." I regarded the other one. Didn't look like much. Privilege was written in every line of her pretty face, the supercilious expression in her eyes. "And you must be the one called Jool. A recent addition."
Her eyes widened in surprise, uncertainty -- and I didn't miss that she looked to D'Argo before responding. More and more interesting.
Her response, though, was a quick recovery and an arrogant lift to the chin. "My *name* is Joolushko Tunay Fento Hovalis. How do you know me?"
I recorded the name, in its obnoxious entirety, for reference. "I do my research."
"Research?" the Luxan growled. "Are you hunting us, Peacekeeper?"
"No, I haven't been assigned to you. This research was purely out of..." I allowed myself a glance at Crichton, a lazy, satisfied smile, "...personal interest."
I thought surely Sun's reserve would break at any moment; instead, she simply holstered her pistol with a flamboyance that was not regulation, not at all, and stalked out of the hangar bay. I wondered how far I could push her before she showed some reaction. It would be fun to find out.
Crichton leaned in close. The scent of his skin was familiar, his voice was silky, dangerous. "Jena, things are frelled up enough already... you had better not make it worse."
"No promises, isn't that what we agreed?" I said with an easy, inviting smile. "Care to show me where I'm going to sleep?" He looked at me, head tilted, eyes narrowed, the beginnings of a disbelieving smile on his face. As uncomfortable as it made things for him, he liked my style.
He didn't have a chance to answer, though, before the Luxan stepped forward. "*I* will escort you to your guest quarters."
I nodded my agreement, allowed D'Argo to lead me out of the room. I didn't turn back to see if Crichton was watching. I didn't need to. As we exited the hangar bay, I heard Jool's voice carry clearly.
"Who's that, Crichton? Old girlfriend?"
I laughed.
****
The quarters D'Argo showed me to were spartan, uncluttered -- and exactly like every other cell we'd passed. So there must be a reason he'd chosen these particular quarters. I raised an eyebrow at him, questioning.
He cleared his throat. "If you need anything, my quarters are across the hall. Crais is staying in the cell next to yours on a temporary basis." His gaze was steady. "There is no need for you to bother *anyone* else."
Ah. No points for subtlety, again, but definite points for loyalty. He was letting me know that I would be watched. Closely. And that he would not take kindly to my approaching John Crichton without supervision.
In fact, there was no chance I would be allowed anywhere on board without supervision.
I laughed. "So what do you people do for food on this ship?"
He growled. "We eat in the center chamber in two arns."
"So I have time to clean up?" I was more than tired of the cheap clothing and garish face paint I'd adopted for my time with J'atris.
"It would be greatly appreciated if you did."
I couldn't help it. That annoyed me. "I don't suppose there would be a change of clothing here that I could-"
"We will see to it," he said, his tone deliberate. "There are many leftover Peacekeeper uniforms that would make you feel quite at home. I will have Jool or Chiana bring you something appropriate for your... position."
The way he drew out the final word made it clear what he thought of my position. I decided to push it, taking a step forward. The action could have been seductive, but my tone was hard, cold. "And what possible interest could you have in what position I assume, Luxan?"
"None whatsoever," he answered gruffly. "As long as it does not injure my friends, I care nothing for you at all."
"Ah." My chin came up. There was his vulnerable spot. I decided to press it. "Then perhaps, as long as you are sending people to attend me, you could send the human to wash my back. I promise not to... *injure* him."
He merely turned on his heel and stalked out of the cell, keying the door mechanism shut behind him. I heard the definite *snick* of the lock. "You will remain here until someone fetches you for dinner," he snapped. "And it will *not* be Crichton."
